sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT
by hp1piececraziness
Summary: He loves the old architecture and beautiful decorations. He hates his prison. He loves running. He hates the scrambling, heart racing sprinting, and terror. He loves the quiet. He hates the hollow sensation of being alone with the monsters. He loves the thought of escape. He hates that he drags in the newcomers with him into the terror every time. OCs and headcanons about HetaOni.


**So I started playing HetaOni...right. My imagination had to be fed. This was the result. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my unnamed OC and these headcanons.**

**Warning: Well, it's T so that includes some cursing and lots of death. Like, death every few paragraph/lines. Yup. This is what my imagination cooks up all the time. *two thumbs up***

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

Okay, so he believed in magic. Come on, it's not that bad of a thought. With magic, wouldn't the world be nicer?

Fine, he'll admit, he was thinking about his sister when he started working what would be his masterpiece. But damn it, he just wanted to see her again! It wasn't fair that she had to die that day!

* * *

_He would laugh later in despair through the tears at the irony. Now all that he could think about would be to live, and keep fucking running. He doesn't even remember if he truly had a sister or if that was just a hallucination from several loops ago. Oh god, why did he come here._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

He wanted to practice and perfect his work. That was all. And old buildings had a nice sentimental feel to him. He liked walking in ruins. Like Rome for example.

Thus, he couldn't just pass up opportunity to go to an abandoned mansion. Abandoned mansions were the best. After all he didn't believe in phantoms and the supernatural lot.

* * *

_This was before the mansions gained it's all too true reputation as being haunted. His mind, now beginning to twist and warp from continuously dying again and again, is glad for the daredevils that investigate. They provide company, however long they last. _

_None of them ever escaped._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

At first he stayed on the outside grounds. It was a large area, and plenty of gardens to explore. At the back, he notices a cave. It's a…nice…touch.

He dismisses the cave for now.

Working under the sunny skies, he takes out his heavy notebook, fountain pen at the ready, and begins to write. He draws magic circles, and makes notes about the theory. Time travel is complex and needs some safety nets before problems and paradoxes happen. Hours pass. Sometimes stones appear with a small puff, so he makes note to send such and such back when testing.

The sun begins to set.

Oh how naïve he was. He should have headed back to the village. If magic could work, why wouldn't there by murderous creatures as well?

He packs up, and walks into the mansion.

* * *

_A safety net from before were the time loops. He doesn't know if he should curse the loops or thanks himself feverishly for the second chances._

_It doesn't matter; he's been running for hundreds of loops now, and the windows never break and the door never opens. But the door has a keyhole, so there must be a key. He searches, dies, and searches again._

_He should have gone back to town and just settle with living with regret that he didn't at least open the door and poke his head in. That regret would be so much easier to handle._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

The first time he dies, it's within five minutes of entering the building. He saw the back of the monster and stumbles in shock. His bag, full and clattering, attracts the monster's attention. A splat of opaque and horribly out of place color on an otherwise nice watercolor painting.

His blood soaks the fabric and the wooden floor.

The book remains unsoiled.

* * *

_It doesn't stay clean for long. A few deaths later, blood drips onto some pages. _

_Funnily enough, it never accidentally rips from abuse. He's glad. Each word and drawing is important. Losing one sheet would spell game over for good. Game over inside the mansion is bad. Game over is only going to be when he leaves the mansion. _

_That's the most important rule in this "game."_

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

He's more careful and wary after that. After waking up with a quiet intake of breath, he tries to figure out a way to make the bag quieter.

Okay, not going that hallway again. He explores the rest of first floor as much as he dares. As in, he doesn't open any doors that he has to.

Damn, that kitchen's in pretty good condition.

He doesn't know if he should be worried.

* * *

_He doesn't need to be worried. The food's edible, if bland...He reasons that the mansion's been soaked with magic long ago and that's what helped keeps the lights on everywhere and the house in good condition and CLEAN. Because, for god's sake, there is a fucking NEST of monsters._

_He doesn't want to know why they are there in the first place. _

_So he doesn't bother to try and find out._

_He's been doing pretty damn well in that aspect, hundreds, maybe even close to a thousand, loops later and he doesn't have a single clue. He wants to keep it that way. Some of the travelers have pretty fucked up theories._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

The second floor to his satisfaction is all bedrooms. It is starting to get late. He decides to sleep in one of the beds.

He dies again because the doors aren't locked and he slept too soundly.

* * *

_Maybe he was in denial in the beginning. Probably was. His body didn't want to believe that he was killed._

_Regardless, getting sent back to the door and beginning going to become annoying fast. He fixes that part in the book after several deaths and experiments later._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

He liked the red cover on his book. To his dismay, it was starting to collect dust from the surfaces of desks and tables when he put it down. He dusts it off and sighs. He just recovered from being killed again. Actually, he thinks he was killed. But that wouldn't explain why he was obviously alive still.

Oh. Well.

He was alive and damn it, this door was locked. He wondered where the key was.

And at that, where the fuck was the loo.

* * *

_He's not certain why, maybe in a time loop he has yet to take part in, but there is magic sealing off the bathroom on the first floor as "safe." The Thing never gets him there. _

_The dust was starting to annoy him. But this wasn't the time or place to worry about housekeeping. Besides, he didn't have anything he could use to clean the mirror regardless._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

To his dismay, he's starting to get used to this system of trial and error. The Thing (_a bit of his demented brain starts to call it "Steve" after his childhood enemy_) is always at the same place at the same time, every time.

And no way in hell is he going to do anything that might jeopardize his advantage. It's bad enough that he doesn't live more than a few hours at a time already. His pocket watch is starting to tick off tempo, and finally dies silently after a dozen and a half deaths. Actually, he's going to use the term "time loops," it helps hide the truth of his confinement. He keeps the watch for the occasional emergences when he needs a doorstop. It's sturdy metal that won't break easily.

* * *

_It does eventually. Utterly smashed by the Thing. He doesn't have time to mourn for the faithful watch. He dies shortly afterwards holding off the Thing, trying to let the new arrivals escape. He doesn't know what happened to them. They're probably dead._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

He's stuck. The Thing keeps killing him at this one point, regardless how hard he's sprinting and tearing past corners. It's the same every time.

His blood paints the walls and floor.

He wakes up at the front hall again and again, bag at his side, getting more and more worn as each loop passes.

Dejected, he realizes that he's going to have to fight the Thing. Problem: he doesn't have anything remotely weapon worthy. And he's not exactly the fittest person ever, he's only slightly better than average thanks to the terrified sprints that spell life or death.

Solution?

There isn't one yet.

He gets killed again.

* * *

_Eventually he gets his hands on some plumbing he wretched out from the sinks thanks to some quick maneuvers and the Thing's unintentional help. It helps a bit, just enough to let him get away without mortal wounds._

_It took him way too long to learn how to quickly use magic against the Thing in battle._

_Thank god one of the visitors (she still died in the end to his horror) had a spar gun for him. His magic is good enough by then to make "bullets." It saves him quite a few times._

_Even then, he still dies. He just can't get out._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

His time traveling magic is still by far his best work ever. He loves it just as any decent parent loves their child.

Finally, long after he's lost count of how, just after he "saved" his progress, a check point he could return to when he dies, someone opens the front door and steps in. Looking up from his finished spell, he tenses at sound. His hand grips the pipe still unfamiliar in his hand and his book.

In the front hall, he finds three people, two girls and a boy.

They stare at each other.

He probably looks horrible.

* * *

_Why did he care about that? He was always going to look horrible. Someone, he stopped trying to remember names, it hurt if he did, once commented on how ill he appeared from his scant sleep and the grime that clung to his being. He wasn't any better mentally. _

_But it's okay, so long as he will eventually get out and celebrate a proper "game over."_

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

The girls nearly scream, but the boy shushes them. They still let out a squeak. He tenses and looks around terrified, then motions for them to follow him. They don't at first and he is starting to get desperate. He doesn't know if the Thing will appear and they need to get the hell out here.

Fucking idiots had closed the front door behind them.

He doesn't speak, hadn't spoke for hours and days now. He doesn't know if his voice would be able to handle it. Doesn't matter, they need to move their asses and follow him into a safe room.

* * *

_They don't last long, and he doesn't know how to deal with them, both when they were alive and dead. He had been so used to being alone. The human contact helps sooth the pain. Then they die and it's even worse to have to deal with them being ripped away._

_For the first time, he wishes he had died so he could restart that round. Having more than one person helped ease some of the burden. _

_Some._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

He's alone again, and he tries to salvage what he can from the pockets and purses. He's desperate for resources and feels absolutely horrible and is apologizing profusely to their corpses, so cold and still.

Using a key he found in a loop from some time ago – not sure when, everything starts to blend together after a while – he locks himself into a bedroom and has a silent breakdown.

He's still apologizing, surprised at the sound of his hoarse voice.

* * *

_They are the first in a long line of casualties and deaths. _

_To this day, he doesn't know if any of them ever escaped after his death and he was sent back to the latest checkpoint in a new loop._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

The silence is pressing down on him again.

It's good, he's still suffering from losing the three.

But he can't go past the last checkpoint. He'll never see them again. Their corpses have already disappeared. He doesn't try and think about what that might mean. He thinks he'll throw up again if he does.

Please let it just be because of magic.

Please, please, please, oh god, please.

* * *

_He still hasn't found out what took them. He still doesn't want to know. It's a mystery he doesn't want to contemplate, just like where that nest of monsters came from, or if dead bodies would also work for the last clock he sets up in case he does fail._

_She tells him it's just survivor's guilt. It doesn't matter._

_Besides, she dies later anyway. By then, he's too wrecked to cry. Crying's too loud and distracting. If he wants to live he can't cry._

_He probably doesn't have a heart anymore. It's been torn and stomped on, then burned in a fire, then the ashes have been thrown into an ocean, whatever an ocean is like, he doesn't remember or care._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

He's setting up checkpoints left and right, and dying just as fast. He's going to need something better than some plumbing and a broken pocket watch.

So he locks himself into the bathroom, shaking from exhaustion, hunger, and terror. His throat burns with each breath and he gladly drinks the liquid that comes out of the tap, regardless of how trustworthy it is or not. Even if it kills him, he'll just go back to his last checkpoint. No problem.

But he's so hungry.

* * *

_He has to go out of the bathroom soon. Creeping to the kitchen, silently, like a shadow, he snatches food and scurries back, not wanting to run into the Thing. While he eats some of the food, he throws some back in time. The pile grows from the original number and he knows he breaking physics but that matters little._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

He starts running out of ink for his book and magic. He panics, and hunts in the bedroom for inkwells or any pen. In one room, he finds a half-filled inkwell of scarlet ink. It will do.

He turns another page in the book and keeps writing notes.

It's going to be time consuming if he keeps doing this and his memories are a mess.

* * *

_He eventually completely runs out of pens and ink. _

_He has to use blood._

_And, to help relieve his mess of memories, he gather the clocks from around the house and preforms a bit of magic. If he ever needs the memories, he doesn't think he will, he will just need to break the clocks. Easy._

_Scattering the clocks around the house again, he swears the Thing is intelligent to some degree. After all, it's already burned his bag. Only his empty fountain pen and heavy book remain._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

He's stuck. Again. This time it's worse, he's accidentally set a trap for himself by creating a checkpoint. A checkpoint that would dump him into the Thing and its buddies' clutches again and again. It's impossible to get rid of checkpoints.

They just don't understand the concept of a clean death.

His blood splatters everything.

* * *

_He does escape eventually, barely hanging on to life. He collapses just inside a bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him. Dabbing his fingers with blood, he completes the spell, closes his eyes, and dies._

_Coming back to life, he immediately pulls out his keys and locks the door. Frowning, he went to a corner of the room. He's had enough, he's going to make a safe room and damn it if he runs out of ink, he'll just use blood._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

The next one that arrives came by accident. Accident or not, it doesn't change the matter that the new man is inside the mansion and he is now part of the torture.

The man is noisy. Too noisy, he's going to attract the attention of the Thing.

He hides in his bedroom, a coward, sitting on the floor, clutching his knees to his chest with his book squeezed in between. Closing his eyes is too dangerous and he simply stares at the floor.

A scream, then silence.

* * *

_It happens again and again. He hears someone entering and he hides. They die soon enough._

_The tears stop coming after the death toll hits the tens._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

Sometimes he wonders why him? Why did he have to suffer this? Why?

Then he smacks his forehead on the cover of his book and reminds himself of the most important rule.

Game over isn't going to be until he escapes.

Beside, even if he feels suicidal, it would do nothing, he just keeps coming back.

* * *

_And she reminds him that he needs the key to get out. Something is making the windows ridiculously strong._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

She arrives by the time he's died well over several hundred times. He gets greeted by a bullet that wizzes past his face and into the forehead of the Thing as he was being chased. Right off the bat, she's able to assist and leaves the freaking out for later.

She's the one that is ridiculously ready for confrontation, considering that her original plan for the day would be to explore the woods. The ammunition is for wild animals she claims.

Eh, beggars can't be choosers and he might as well praise her and declare her as the miracle that he's been desperate for for so long. In fact, he does just that in his quiet, raspy voice. She smirks.

He sets up another checkpoint and she's adaptable, she doesn't question the magic.

* * *

_That time, he didn't die in what, according to her, felt like three days. That's the longest he's ever been alive for. He tells her that after clearing his throat for a long time. She looks at him somewhat strange, then to his surprise, hugs him._

_He tells her about magic and everything he knows from his captivity in the mansion. She believes him, and that's good._

_She dies protecting him._

_He doesn't know her name, and likewise for her, she doesn't know his. In fact, he doesn't remember his own name._

_It feels like his heart's been shredded once again as he holds her wounded body and he himself begins to slip away._

_Another checkpoint is made in blood._

_He doesn't want to see her again, alive. It would drive him insane with guilt._

_Survivors guilt she tells him._

_Pain, he calls it. Cruel, cruel pain. That's all it is._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

He makes more progress at building various new installments. He uses magic to gather resources. He's definitely breaking the laws of physics now.

Well, that's not going to stop him.

There's a new iron cage for the monsters. It takes many tries and many deaths, but eventually manages to trap the majority of them in there. Nearly all the others get locked into the room.

* * *

_But the Thing's made it past his locks and traps and it still hunts in the halls. Still, better only one and not all the others he tells the shocked brunette._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

The key moves all the time.

Oh god, he wants to get out.

His torn, old, bloody clothes hang onto his thin but strong frame and his eyes lose their spark, cold and calculating. And haunted.

* * *

_More people arrive. More people die. _

_Just another checkpoint._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

This is the biggest group of people he's ever seen. Seriously.

And they're loud as fuck, he kindly tells them in his little-used voiced. Some of them laugh to prove his point.

They're all armed and all know how to fight, and fight very well. Even better than her.

Maybe he'll survive and escape with them this time.

* * *

_They ask why he doesn't react to their names. He tells them names don't matter, getting the fuck out of here is what matters. Besides, everyone else died._

_One of them tells him he really lacks tact. _

_You don't need tact to survive he tells him._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

They're a strange group, talking about being nations and what not. He doesn't know what that is supposed to mean and assumes that is just some new lingo that he doesn't understand anymore from being separated from the outside for so long.

They're funny, as in odd in the head funny, and he doesn't know why, but he tells the cheerful brown haired boy and the blonde with thick eyebrows about his book. The blonde also knows magic and helps him out.

Another miracle.

Then they all die one by one. He's sprinting and the brown haired boy is too scared and terrified to cry. They're sprinting and sprinting. Wow, the newcomer sure can run. He has the key and slams it into the lock. It fits and he throws the door open.

Pain flowers in his back and he feels the familiar warmth of flowing blood.

He tosses the book to the survivor and promptly dies.

* * *

_This whole time, he hadn't made a single checkpoint. How stupid of him. But it helps out and it turns out that the man – not a boy anymore – and him will need that last checkpoint to save the others. _

_He doesn't make another checkpoint._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

Now he has someone else that can relate to him. They both leap through loop after loop, trying and trying. They have to retrieve the clues he scattered around the house in case something like this happened.

* * *

_And honestly? They're shattering and all the adhesive isn't going to be enough._

_This is going to be the closest to "game over" he's going to be able to get to. He lets the other take care of the book. He's already memorized everything he's wrote in there._

_Blood splatters surfaces and a new loop starts._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

The other, Italy – yes he's finally going to learn a name – asks him how he doesn't go insane from being in the mansion so long. Having to see the other visitors all die.

He looks Italy in the eye and doesn't even need to speak to tell him the answer.

* * *

_Italy's friends are also well aware that he's not mentally and physically fit at all._

_No one says anything about it though._

* * *

~sysTeM eRRor, PlEasE rEseT~

* * *

Game over.

* * *

_Finally._

* * *

**So there are a few inconsistency. And I wanted some more stuff. But this was starting to get long for a one shot. I'll probably come back to that in a different one shot that would accompany this one if my muse ever feels up to it.**

**Till later,**

**~dorandsugar**


End file.
